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Ashley had never been one for blind dates. The idea of sitting across from a total stranger, forced into small talk and measured laughs, always made her stomach twist. But after weeks of coaxing from her best friend and a string of uneventful evenings alone, she finally gave in.

The cafe was dimly lit, jazz humming softly through the speakers. Ashley wore a deep burgundy dress—elegant, simple, with just a hint of edge. She arrived early, nervous fingers wrapped around her coffee cup, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds.

Then he walked in.

Tall, confident, and wearing a crooked smile that made her pulse skip. His name was Ryan. He wasn’t her usual type—less polished, more dangerous in a way she couldn’t define—but the moment their eyes met, something clicked.

Conversation flowed effortlessly. They laughed, teased, challenged each other. Dinner turned into a stroll, which turned into drinks at a lounge, which turned into hands brushing more often, lingering longer each time.

By midnight, the air between them was electric.

"Want to come up?" she asked, voice low, surprised at her own boldness.

He didn’t hesitate.

In her apartment, everything became heat and urgency. Kisses turned fierce. Clothes became a blur. What started as gentle exploration quickly ignited into a wild, unspoken game—dominance, trust, desire colliding in a storm they both welcomed.

By morning, tangled in the sheets, Ashley wasn’t sure what surprised her more: the intensity of their night or how right it all felt.

Sometimes, she thought as he traced lazy circles on her skin, blind dates weren’t so bad after all.